Page 55 of Accidentally Vacationed with an Incubus

Jen hesitated, her gaze locking onto the chair. Whatever remained latched to the fabric of the seat was damp, discolored, and had the unmistakable aura of being biologically hazardous.

I watched the flicker of panic in her eyes, the war between politeness and self-preservation.

“Actually, Mr. Cadmus,” I said, keeping my tone light, “we can’t stay for long.”

Jen cast me a grateful glance, though the worry still etched deep into her features told me she wasn’t ready to leave

“Oh. That’s a shame,” Mr. Cadmus murmured, slowly pushing the chair back under the table. Then, with a gentleness that made my chest tighten, he reached for Jen’s hand. His spindly fingers curled around hers. “I’m so sorry about what happened to your parents, child. They were good people.”

A single tear slipped down Jen’s cheek, and I had to fight the overwhelming urge to pull her into my arms, to take her far away from this place and the ghosts it stirred.

“Don’t cry, child,” Mr. Cadmus soothed, placing a trembling hand on her shoulder. “Ms. Cadmus and I never blamed you for what happened. It was an accident, dear. You didn’t even know how to drive or anything about cars,” he added with a sad, wavering smile. “And I have no doubt in my mind that you couldn’t have known just how dangerous it was to tamper with those wires under the hood.”

Jen sniffled, stiffening slightly at his words. “Thank you,” she murmured, clearly wanting to change the subject. “How is Ms. Cadmus?”

Mr. Cadmus’s face fell, grief pooling in his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper, raw and breaking at the edges. “Not good, my dear. I don’t think she has long left.”

Jen’s expression crumpled. Without hesitation, she stepped forward, wrapping her arms around Mr. Cadmus’s frailshoulders, holding him as his body sagged beneath the weight of sorrow.

“I’m so sorry,” Jen whispered.

Tears slipped down his weathered face, vanishing into the wiry tangle of his beard. His grip on her tightened for a moment, as if anchoring himself against the grief threatening to pull him under. “It’s the hardest thing in the world,” he murmured into her shoulder. “Watching your mate slowly fade away.” Mr. Cadmus pulled back just enough to meet Jen’s eyes, his own glistening with unshed tears. “Dementia has been cruel to my dear Sylvia. I would do anything to protect my mate... but this? How do you protect someone from their own mind?” His breath wavered, his frail fingers clenching at the fabric of his worn-out cardigan.

“My health is failing. I can’t keep up with the house,” he admitted, sweeping a trembling hand toward the rotting debris around us. “And she... she doesn’t even recognize it as home most of the time. She thinks I’ve imprisoned her.” His voice cracked, and he let out a long, weary sigh. “She keeps trying to escape. I find her wandering in the forest, confused, desperate to find her way back to a home she no longer remembers.”

A sharp pang twisted in my chest. The basilisk in the forest.

It hadn’t been Mr. Cadmus lurking in the shadows last night. It had been his wife—lost, confused, slithering through the dark, searching for a place that only existed in her memories.

And yet, even as sorrow tightened its grip around me, another thought took root at the back of my mind, cold and unwavering:It wasn’t the basilisk who had left the police files to torment Jen. Someone else had.

“Veyron?” a frail voice drifted from the hallway, thin and uncertain.

“I’m in the kitchen, my love,” Mr. Cadmus called back, quickly wiping his tears with the sleeve of his tattered cardigan.He forced a cheery smile, though the sorrow still lingered in his weary eyes.

The sound of dirt and debris shifting filled the silence, accompanied by the slow, labored shuffle of footsteps approaching. When Ms. Cadmus finally appeared in the doorway, I had to fight the instinct to suck in a sharp breath.

She was a ghost of a woman—practically skeletal. Her nightdress, heavily soiled and frayed at the seams, hung from her fragile frame like a shroud. The fabric bunched awkwardly at her sharp, bony joints. Her skin, mottled with scratches and sores, stretched thin over her gaunt features. Her entire body trembled violently, her frail fingers gripping her cane in a desperate attempt to steady herself.

“You should be in bed, my love,” Mr. Cadmus murmured, his voice gentle.

But she ignored him. Her sunken eyes locked onto Jen, and for a moment, something like recognition flickered in their depths.

“Diane?” she rasped, shock lacing her fragile voice. “How are you here? Did they throw you in prison too?”

“This isn’t prison, dear,” Mr. Cadmus said softly, shuffling toward her and carefully looping his arm through hers, trying to ground her. “This is your home.”

Ms. Cadmus’s face twisted with fury. “This isn’t my home,” she spat, her voice laced with venom. She weakly thrashed against Mr. Cadmus’s hold, her movements uncoordinated and desperate. “You’ve imprisoned me.” Her breath hitched, her sunken eyes filling with a grief so raw it was almost unbearable to witness. “You promised me, Veyron. I just want to go home.”

Mr. Cadmus looked helplessly between me and Jen, his expression wavering between sorrow and silent pleading.

“Diane,” Ms. Cadmus murmured, reaching a frail hand toward Jen. “Tell him I’m sorry. Tell him whatever it takes to make him take me home.”

Mr. Cadmus visibly tensed. “That’s not Diane, dear,” he said gently. “Diane is no longer with us, remember? That’s her daughter, Jennifer.”

Ms. Cadmus shook her head, confusion knitting her brow. “No. Jennifer is only a child. And Diane was here yesterday.” She lifted a trembling hand to her husband’s face, her fingers brushing his cheek as though trying to ground herself. “She was here. She brought me flowers—” Her gaze moved to Jen, her expression shifting. “And... I... I had an accident.” She grasped Jen’s hands in hers, her grip fragile yet desperate. “I’m sorry you had to witness it. I’m ever so embarrassed.” Her features twisted. “It was an accident.”

Mr. Cadmus’s face tinged with discomfort, but he recovered quickly, his voice soft and soothing. “Don’t worry, dear. We got you all cleaned up, didn’t we?”

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